


A Little Bit of Home for the Holidays

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bookshelf oral, Christmas, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, Lemons, Muggle Teachers, Post-War, Sexual Content, Smut, christmas theme, holiday themed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 17:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16791211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: Hermione embarks on a new life as a teacher at a muggle prep school -- little does she know so has someone else from her past.





	A Little Bit of Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StoneAndRoses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoneAndRoses/gifts).



**_She Wanted Anonymity_ **

She took a deep breath and walked into the staff room. The beginning of year buzz was there; she felt it—energetic conversations, boisterous laughter, the smell of tea and fresh pastries—but it was different this time. She was on the other side of the desk, so to speak. She'd taught before, but never formally, and never literature to twelve year olds at a muggle prep school.

Hermione, worn down from ministry work after one short year, stepped away on a whim. Unsure of what to do, but excelling in just about everything, she decided to do what every floundering young adult in their early twenties does, try her a hand at teaching. She'd taken a few years out of the spot light time to get a literature degree at a Muggle University.

She wanted anonymity.

She wanted to read and do research and be away from the inner workings of the Wizarding World for the time. Hermione finished her literature degree quickly, and, just as quickly, secured her position at her school.

There were certain things about being in a muggle school that came back naturally and comfortably to Hermione. She had missed the smell of pencil shavings; the sounds of young feet all shoved into one small hallway, bustling from one room the next—vastly different than the open corridors and private areas of Hogwarts.

Walking into the staff room, she spotted him immediately. Her heart sunk deep into her belly.

_Oh no. No. No. No. No._

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted to start anew and to be out of the spotlight. She never wanted to be the heroine of the wizarding word; she’d only wanted to explore and understand. Working at the same prep school as Draco Malfoy wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to begin her new peaceful, quiet life.

He was standing in the corner, a paper cup in his hand, speaking with who she knew to be the maths teacher in the grade level she’d be teaching—grade seven. She nervously worried if this meant that Draco also taught the same grade as her.

She mulled over the idea of Draco teaching, she couldn’t quite fathom him being a good teacher or, really, a teacher at all, but, then again, did she really know Draco all that well?

She observed him quietly while she still could, before he recognized her. He was laughing and seemed to be carrying on enthused conversation with the other teacher.

It had been years since she’d seen him; he looked much healthier than he had at the trial after the war. He looked quite and genuinely happy. Hermione noted that this was the first time she’d ever seen Draco Malfoy happy.

Evidently, she thought, Draco had decided to do the same exact thing she was coming here to do; he had just decided to do it earlier than she had.

**_He Began to Search for Something Else_ **

Draco Malfoy was, for the first time in his life, happy. He'd decided long before his trial, that if he was cleared of the charges, that he would leave the magical world behind. He would go to a muggle university; he'd find a muggle job. He would still use magic in his own home, purely because he didn't have a clue how to do most things without magic, but he refused to be a part of the magical world for now. He knew he'd be rejected by both sides—left, ultimately, all alone.

Draco got a degree in history. It was fascinating to him the way muggle history and magical history intertwined; how the magical world has been able to cover-up so much and hide it within muggle history. Draco in his studies discovered many interesting connections of events. He sent articles under a pen name to a wizarding publishing company, and managed to make small amount of money from his scholarship. He didn’t want to be part of the magical world, but he had to make money. Knowing that his historical pursuits would only go so far, he began to search for something else.

Muggles at university joked that a history degree is useless unless you become a teacher. Draco had never really considered teaching before, but he didn't have many options, and so he applied to a post for a year seven history teacher at a small prep school.

To Draco's surprise, he got the job, and he enjoyed it immensely. He was actually really good at it. It wasn't that he was intelligent and knew the content very well, because he did, it was because he was enthusiastic about it. Twelve year olds pick up on sincerity quite well; they know when you’re faking it. Twelve year olds also have no filter. They say what they want, when they want, and Draco knew he was a well-received teacher.

Draco was thriving.

Nothing could get him down.

Except when the school’s headmaster introduced the newest grade seven literature teacher. Draco was chatting away with his colleague, the grade seven mathematics teacher, when the headmaster walked over with her.

_Her. Why the bloody hell is she here?_

His brain scattered. He was scared. Was this some Ministry thing? Was he in trouble somehow? And, if he was, why were they sending Granger? She hadn’t gone through Auror training; she hadn’t wanted to go the route that Ron and Harry had.

Draco felt, also, a great sense of shame. Shame for all he had done to her over the years. He didn’t care much that he’d bullied Potter and Weasley; they had bullied him back. Granger, though, she was just a product of unnecessary and unwarranted anger; a result of him growing up in a household where he was mocked for her being better than him, a household where he was told she was the enemy for being a girl, for being a muggleborn, for begin a Gryffindor. He watched her be tortured in the war, and he had done nothing. When it was all over, he fled, which, now, at this very moment, made him feel weak and cowardly.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. MacDougal, this is Ms. Hermione Granger. She’s our new year seven literature and composition instructor.”

She nodded and smiled a half-smile, ‘Hello. I’m so happy to be here.”

Before much else could be said, another teacher came over and introduced herself, another English teacher. Draco found this his moment to break away and steady his thoughts.

**_Enlighten Me, Granger._ **

Draco walked into the hallway and into his classroom. He groaned as he walked past her classroom to get to his. They were right next door to each other.

He began pacing in his classroom. “Okay,” he whispered out loud to himself, “She’s here to teach. If the ministry sent her to spy on me, then she would be in a disguise, right? I’m sure of that. Plus, I was cleared of all charges. Cleared. Why would they need me now? Not to mention, the ministry wouldn’t sacrifice Granger; they wouldn’t send her off to teach children at a prep school all for me. That’d be a waste of her abilities. Plus, if Granger had become an Auror, it would have been all over the Prophet. That’d make the whole bloody trio Aurors, and the press wouldn’t be able to shut up about that.”

Just then he heard a soft knock at his classroom door. He swiveled in place and saw Hermione Granger standing there. He allowed himself to take her in. She looked just the same to him. She was neat and proper in her dress. She was slender but soft at her hips and her chest. Her hair wasn’t as wild as it had been, but it was still mostly a mass of curls flouncing out from every direction, ringlets outlining her face, spilling onto her shoulders and down her back. Draco couldn’t deny that he’d always thought she was pretty; he’d always found her physically attractive, and he also enjoyed her intelligence. In their later years at Hogwarts, he goaded her often just to get a rise out of her. He loved how quick witted she was.

“Why are you here, Granger?” He asked in a tone he hadn’t used in years.

“For the very same reason you are, I suppose.” Her voice was soft; her tone was gentle.

“Yeah? What’s that? Do you believe yourself so smart that you know my reasoning for being here?”

“Well, honestly, Malfoy, it isn’t hard to work out.”

“Enlighten me, Granger.”

“You’re here to be away from everything and everyone we know. To start over. To be someone without the past mucking it all up. Right?”

“And, do tell, Golden Gryffindor Girl, Savior of the Wizarding World, Future Minister of Magic, what about your past is mucking up your future?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to be. I didn’t want to be all those things you listed. Not anymore.”

“So, you left it all behind? Weasley, too?”

“Yes. I left Ron, too. The fame is good for him; it isn’t for me.”

“Mmm. Right. Yes. Such a shame being loved and adored.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Malfoy!” she finally hit the wall in this conversation and raised her voice, her cheeks turning red, her eyes heavy with frustration.

She continued, “I came here to teach. To start a new life away from everything. I didn’t recognize you at first, you look so different now. You’re still very much yourself, but you exude something different. Whatever you have here is clearly good, and I don’t want to mess that up for you. That’s all I wanted to say, Draco. I’m not here to bother you or interrupt. I, too, want to be left alone.”

“No, see, Granger, that’s...that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t want to be alone. I want a new life with new people without my past getting in the way. These kids. My students. They, Granger, they like me. I’m liked and not because I’m feared or because of my father. I’m genuinely liked. You weren’t the only person in school who had trouble making friends. You at least had those two fuck-wits Potter and Weasley. I, truly, had no one. So, please, don’t try to understand what I’m doing here.”

With that, he strode past her. She caught the scent of his cologne as he passed, a mixture of cedar and a soft hint of vanilla, and he left her in his classroom.

Standing there, on the brink of tears, she examined his classroom. She felt overwhelmed as she took it all in—there were tons of notes from students on the board behind his desk; they were the most colorful thing in the room, as his walls were otherwise bare.

She imagined him standing behind his desk and pinning each note/drawing/token to the bulletin board. Her heart swelled and ached at this thought. Hermione never lacked a home; she had had her parents and Hogwarts.

Draco, she thought, had found his home here, at this small muggle prep school. He'd found it amongst broken pencils, the shuffle of pages, and the look on a child's face when his or her brain made new connections.

Draco’s desk was bare and extremely neat; his brain worked differently than Hermione's. He, it was clear, needed a clear-cut system. Everything had a place. Everything had order. Hermione, on the other hand, she had books and journals and paper piled everywhere. She understood it all, and although sometimes she had trouble finding what she needed, the clutter helped her to feel comforted—to be surrounded by so many words.

There were no pictures on his desk, no indication of a family. The only thing that seemed to matter to Draco was the board behind his desk. It seemed to radiate.

Hermione decided then that she would leave Draco be. She came here to be alone and to step away from the magical world; she would do just that.

**_They Shared a Wall_ **

Hermione spent the first few months of the school year in a whirlwind. Teaching was far different than she'd expected. Gratifying beyond belief, but it was exhausting. On top of it, she spent so much energy restricting her magic to when she was at home in her flat.

She saw Draco daily, as they shared a wall, but they only spoke when necessary. She was so tired she didn't have much time to even think about what she'd say to him.

However, they had seemed to fall into a nice rhythm of nodding and exchanging words about students when necessary. Occasionally, they'd make eye contact at a faculty meeting and often seemed to know what the other was thinking: “ _If she asks one more question that's already been answered.” “If they don't let us out of here, don't we all have more important things to be doing?” “I cannot believe no one has noticed that Simmons is asleep.”_

Occasionally, Hermione would have to stifle a laugh. She'd tuck her chin down, let her curls fall over her face, suppressing her smile. Draco would feel a slight warmth in the pit of his belly whenever he'd give her a look that caused her to have to stifle her laughter.

Hermione grew to respect Draco as a teacher, as a colleague, and as a person. Privately, watching him interact with students became one of her favorite things to do. Part of her desperately wanted to speak with him more; she knew that she had wanted to be left alone, but when she embarked on this new path, she hadn’t quite understood just how lonely being left alone was.

The end of first term and Christmas came quickly. Christmas, despite the infectious cheer and joy of the season, brought sadness, too. Hermione missed her parents, and she longed to be back home at Hogwarts: before the war, before everything changed, but that was no longer an option, and here Hermione was-- alone.

Draco couldn’t help but think of Hermione often. She was kind, the type of kindness that was contagious, and she seemed to radiate warmth, perhaps it was the warm color of her hair, and the way it seemed to envelope her. Draco often mused what it’d feel like to bury his face in her hair, to breathe her in. Or, perhaps, it was her eyes, which looked like melted caramel. Draco caught himself thinking these things often, and he tried to bury them, but, there she was with her messy hair and messier desk, her delicately tailored clothes and a pencil always behind an ear , and those thoughts always resurfaced.

He adored her, and he knew he was a fool for it.

Draco would never have acted on the feelings he had for Hermione out of his own desire. Draco was content keeping them to himself; he knew she would never feel similarly towards him. He knew he had bullied her in school; he knew how his associations affected people’s views of him, which is why he had left the wizarding world to begin with. Sitting at his desk, in his classroom, he buried his head in his hands--trying to will himself to stop thinking about Hermione.

With Christmas approaching, there were lots of things going on in afterschool activities--the usual parent/teacher conferences, student Christmas performances, staff Christmas parties at work, staff Christmas parties at various staff members’ homes, Christmas performances for choir and orchestra.

Draco glanced at the clock on his wall and knew he needed to get down to the auditorium. Make his presence known amongst students and parents. He understood how important it is for students to see him there before the performance; it mattered so much to them. He wondered briefly if Hermione was going to be there, “Of course she will,” he spoke aloud in a whisper to himself. He just hoped she was seated before he was, so he could avoid her.

Avoiding her ended up not working out as well as he’d hoped.

Shutting the door to his classroom, he noticed her door open and her lights off – except for a small desk lamp. It left her room glowing softly, reminding him of the common rooms late at night in Hogwarts, where the fire would leave a soft warm glow in an otherwise darkened room.

He stopped and looked into her room--thinking of saying something, but unsure of what. He noticed her head down on her desk. Her hair splayed against the contents – stacks of papers and books amongst jars filled with pens and pencils.

He, with hesitation, walked into her room. The sounds of the heel of his shoe echoed loudly in the hallway and then in her classroom.

“Granger?” he asked timidly.

She popped her head up from her desk. He eyes were swimming with tears, hot streaks running down her faintly red cheeks. She furiously began to wipe them away.

“Oh! Look at the time. I guess we best be going down to the auditorium.” She quickly stood up. Smoothed the skirt of her dress and rounded behind her desk. Draco stood still and eyed her. She stood in front of him briefly and said, “Come on, Malfoy. Let’s go.” She began to move around him. He stepped to the side blocking her.

She looked up at him perplexed and annoyed, “What are you doing?”

“Are you ok?”

“What? Why? Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me, Granger.”

Trying her hardest to sound as if she had to all together she stammered out, “I’m fine.”

He eyed her, “No. You aren’t.”

She looked up at the ceiling, feeling the tears pooling up again. She didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, but she certainly didn’t want to cry in front of Draco. He couldn’t see her as weak; he couldn’t know how weak she was. Despite her best efforts, tears began to overflow onto her cheeks.

Draco gently placed his hand on her chin and nudged it down, so he could see her.

He didn’t say anything. He simply took her face into his hands, placing his thumbs on her cheeks, moving them to wipe away her tears. He stepped a little closer to her. In a whisper he said, “I know. It’s hard.”

“It’s not the teaching,” she said in a low whisper

“I know it’s not the teaching, Granger. You know you’re a great teacher, don’t make me compliment you on that.”

She let out a low snort of a laugh and averted her eyes away from his.

“I miss it all, too. This time of year is hard. No friends. No family. No Hogwarts to make you feel like you’ve got friends and family.”

“Everyone loves you here, Draco.”

“Well, as much as I love it here; it isn’t home.”

“I feel very out of place even as someone who grew up in a Muggle household, and I just miss so much and…” her voice gave out and the tears began to flow.

Draco dropped his hands from her face. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her face against his chest and let herself cry against him. She was overwhelmed with how she felt against him. His warm chest, the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear, the rise and fall of his breath – calm and steady. He let his hands rest around her back – letting his fingers gingerly caress the curls. Hermione was shocked to discover that this, this _hugging_ Draco, felt like home. He felt familiar and new all at once. After she felt as if she’d composed herself, she pulled away slightly and looked up at him. She began to tell him thank you, but before she could get the words out, he shook his head no She didn’t need to say anything, she didn’t need to explain; he understood. She smiled up at him with a soft, small smile; Draco couldn’t help himself. She was so very beautiful. Her cheeks were red, her eyes a little puffy, her mouth open and parted in her smile.

He placed his hand once again on her chin and lifted her face up to him as he bent down to kiss her.

It was the sweetest kiss Hermione had ever been given. It wasn’t passionate or lustful, it was tender and warm. It was full of something other than desire; it was full of forgiveness and a want for understanding.

Hermione sighed inwardly at the warmth of Draco’s lips against her and she pressed against him in encouragement.

Draco wanted to pull away; he wanted to be sure he hadn’t just made a horrible mistake in kissing her. However, he was unable to pull away when she pressed her body against him and rested her hands on the back of his neck. He took this encouragement to deepen their kiss. He parted his mouth slightly; Hermione followed suit, and he couldn’t think of anything that tasted better than her lips. Her soft bottom lip he sucked in between lips tasted of sugar.  
  
Hermione trailed her hands over his shoulders and arms, she let her fingers drop down to his waist and she felt like she was a teenager again as she teasingly grazed her fingers against his aching erection. He arched his hips as she touched him, and she cupped him in her hand squeezing him slightly. He grasped onto her waist and ran one of his hands up her ribcage towards her breasts. He felt the heaviness of them beneath her bra, and the sheerness of the material on both her dress and bra made it so he could feel her nipple pucker underneath his thumb as he grazed it. She moaned softly, and as if her own sound pulled her out of a trance she pulled away abruptly and looked at the clock on her wall.  
  
“Oh! We have to get going to the concert.” she mustered up a bit of her Gryffindor bravery and added, “Would you like to sit with me?”  
  
He held her at an arm's length away from him. He nodded with a smile and said, “That would be nice…” and with a pause “Hermione.”  
  
She smiled at him again and began to walk toward her door, leaving him still standing in her classroom. “Come on. Let’s go.” She stood in the doorway of her classroom, looking at him over her shoulder. He turned to face her, shoved his hands into his pockets, laughed a bit to himself, and replied, “Merlin, Granger. I’m coming. You sure are bossy.”

**_Do You Always Kiss Your Friends?_ **  
  
They walked together silently through the hallways and towards the auditorium. The silence grew thinner as they reached their destination; you could hear chatter and laughter, students warming up their instruments and getting in some last minute practice.  
  
As they walked, her shoulders would brush against him, this hadn’t been intentional, but it felt as if they were magnetic, her body kept pulling towards his. Before they walked through the threshold into the area outside the auditorium she paused.  
  
“Thank you, Draco. For earlier.”  
  
“I told you not to thank me. You have nothing to thank me for.”  
  
“For being there.”  
  
“I never shouldn’t have been there. I should have been a friend ages ago.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is now.”  
  
He pursed his lips together, “Fair enough. Let’s go in, so we can get decent seats. We want the kids to see us.”  
  
She followed him into the auditorium, and they took their seats. On the way in, he fell into his role easily: he shook hands of parents, waved at former students, laughed at jokes, and gave compliments when necessary. She watched him, took in his movements, and admired him. His dress was exquisite. Draco, of course, would never have a wrinkle of his shirt; he’d never have a stain or a string hanging loose.

Tonight he was wearing chocolate corduroy pants they fit him well -- Hermione noted how they fit his arse and his bulge perfectly, and she blushed at herself upon the thought. His shirt was a white oxford that was hidden beneath a forest green sweater, which she knew from earlier was soft. If not for magic, there would have been a giant mess of tears and mascara upon his sweater from her.

  
As they sat down, she was mulling all this over in her brain, when it hit her a word from earlier. “So, Draco, are we friends?”  
  
He adjusted his long legs, resting an ankle of his knee and then resting his hands of his legs. He was strumming his fingers as if in thought.  
  
“Well, yes, Hermione, I suppose so.”  
  
“Do you always kiss your friends?”  
  
“When they look as sad as you did, yes. You looked like you could use a good snogging.”  
  
She laughed, “Who said it was good? I don’t think it lasted quite long enough to tell.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows at her and before he could respond the performance began.  
  
As they sat and listened and watched their students sing and play their instruments, they touched on and off: She would cross her legs and her foot would rest against the back of his calf; when he would go to point something out to her, he’d rest his hand on her thigh momentarily to get her attention; once, there hands touched somehow, their fingers falling together.  
  
Hermione felt silly in all this, but she also loved it. The small touching, the glances, and the shy smiles reminded her of how it felt to be with Krum: there was such an innocence to it all. It struck her that Draco deserved the innocence of feeling this way, while she was holding hands with Krum in the library as she studied, Draco was being berated by his father and manipulated by the promise of Voldemort’s return. While Hermione was hurt over Ron dating Lavender, Draco was plotting to murder Dumbledore. Draco had been robbed of so much innocence and youth.  
  
At the end of the evening, they walked outside with their belongings -- bags, jackets, scarves, and hats -- the pair found that it had begin to snow.  
  
“How do you get to work each day?” Hermione asked.  
  
Draco smirked, “Everyone thinks I walk to nearest train station, but, honestly, I apparate once I get a few blocks from the school. You?”  
  
She nodded, “I do the same. It's one thing to give up magic on a professional level, but alone I, of course, indulge myself.”  
  
“Merlin. Yes. Muggle appliances and such give me a time. I always resort to magic.”  
  
They had begun to walk in the direction that Hermione seemed to take. Draco didn't know where they were going, but he followed her lead. After a few blocks she stopped at a bench in an area that was mostly park -- very few viewing muggles during the day and almost none at nine o'clock at night. Draco stood in front of her, looking down at her -- he watched the light snow fall onto her shoulders, into her hair, onto her knitted beanie. He spotted small flecks on her eyelashes and a few wet spots where the snow had fallen on her nose.  
  
Hermione noted how strikingly cool and blue Draco's eyes were, how his grey wool coat seemed to bring out the cool tones more. The lobes of his ears were red from the cold, and she had the urge to kiss his ears, to gently suck on them to warm them, to whisper in his ear how much she was enjoyed being around him.  
  
Chalking it up to Gryffindor courage again Hermione asked, “Would you like to apparate with me back to my flat? I can fix you a warm drink. Maybe pick your brain about some very interesting history of magical and muggle integration articles I read not too long ago.”  
  
“Yes. I'd like that. And then, perhaps, we can finish that very important thing we were working on in your classroom earlier,” he said with a smirk.  
  
Hermione tilted her head up towards him, “I thought we did finish?”  
  
“Let's go back to your flat.” Draco said, as he placed his hands on Hermione's hips and kissed her again. Hermione sighed softly as their lips brushed, as snow dusted them, and she apparated them together back to her home.

  
**_Hermione Was Endlessly Thankful_ **  


With a resounding pop, they arrived in her small, cozy flat.  
  
Upon their feet hitting the floor in her apartment, they staggered slightly and she fell back against the stack of bookshelves in her living room. Draco fell towards her, pinning her somewhat against the shelves. Without saying a word, he grabbed her wrist gently and held it against the shelves above her head. He scooped down to take her lips into his mouth. She parted her mouth and let her tongue run along his bottom lip.  
  
With his other hand Draco nuzzled his hands inside her coat and against her waist. She could feel the coolness of his hand seeping through the fabric and onto her skin.  
  
She deepened their kiss, running her tongue against his she tasted peppermint. Never once did she think she'd be snogging the face she once slapped, but he was no longer the angry, sad boy he once was. Draco had been given the chance to grow into a considerate and extremely handsome man, and Hermione was endlessly thankful for it.

She pressed her body against his as they kissed, she felt his hardened cock underneath his cords against her, and she couldn't help smirking to herself. He let go of her wrist and let his hand run over the arch of her back, and he cupped her arse. Her hands and fingers trailed over his chest, and her fingers grazed his bulge, giving him squeeze.  
  
He groaned at her grasp and moved his lips to her jaw and neck. His hands moved to the hem of her dress, and he bent down to his knees. He looked up at her, his eyes soaking into her. She bit her lip, relishing the sight of him on his knees before her. His fingers grazed up her thighs. He found the top of her tights and rolled them slowly down, letting his fingers brush her newly exposed skin. He was delicate as he slipped off her flats and rolled her tights off of her. Draco lifted one of Hermione's legs, resting her soft calf on his shoulder. He looked up at her once more, he raised his eyebrows questioningly at her. She nodded and let out a sigh of longing. She reached down to touch his face, rubbing her thumb against his cheek.. He smiled at her and bent his head down beneath her dress.  
  
Draco pressed his lips to her warm center -- the soft silky fabric between his lips and her bare skin. Hermione lifted the hem of her dress and held it up against her body; she wanted to see Draco. He kissed and bit the insides of her thighs lightly while his fingers trailed the edges of the fabric before sinking his ring and middle finger into her.

She sighed at his touch, and he groaned we he felt her wetness beneath his fingers. He looked up at her again as his pumped his fingers inside her, watching her eyes flutter shut, her mouth pop open in a soft moan; he could see her chest rising and falling more rapidly as he worked his fingers inside her. Not wanting to remove her leg from his shoulder, not wanting to not have his fingers inside her, he quickly grabbed his wand in his coat pocket and removed her panties.

Hermione, so taken with the moment, hadn’t realized he had magicked them away until his mouth met with her clit, and she let out a soft cry of surprise and pleasure. He sucked lightly on her clit as his fingers rubbed against the sweet bundle of nerves inside her. He could feel her unraveling in his arms, and he was elated.

The muscles in her thigh upon his shoulders began to tremble slightly, her breath became more rapid. Hermione reached down and ran her fingers through Draco’s hair, tugging slightly and pushing him closer to her as she ground her hips against his fingers and mouth. Draco worked his fingers faster -- thrusting into her harder, continuing to lap at her sweetness. Hermione grabbed onto a shelf behind her, knocking off a book in the process, as she began to hit her peak. “Draco. Merlin. Eff.” She breathed out in short spurts as he felt her center collapse onto his fingers, her thigh shaking against him.

He slowed down his thrusting as her orgasm slowed. When she let go of the shelf and dropped her hand to his shoulder, he removed his fingers -- she let out a whimper as he did so. He ran his tongue up the length of her sex, gently tasting and kissing her. He slipped his tongue inside her, and she let out a soft whimper of “Oh..oh..ohhhh.”  
  
Hermione cupped his face in her hands, pulling him up to look at her. “Draco..” she said, still out of breath from earlier. She bent down to kiss him. She crouched down onto her knees, so she was on the floor with him. She reached up her hand and slide off his coat, she unraveled his scarf, and she tossed them onto the chair nearest. She reached for her wand in her pocket and muttered a spell. She began to take off her own coat, but Draco followed her lead. He shrugged her coat off of her; he got up on his knees against and unraveled her scarf, being careful to not get it tangled in her hair and removed her hat.

He sat back against the shelves so that they were sitting besides one another now, and he kissed her again. Hermione placed a leg over his lap and she straddled him. She pressed herself against him and he groaned as she moved her hands to undo the buckle of his pants, as she undid the buttons on his pants, and as she reached her hand into his boxer briefs to grab hold of his cock. She tugged on him, enjoying the feel and the warmth of his hardness. She leaned forward to kiss his neck and whispered, “I want you, Draco.” Without a second of hesitation he replied, “Then have me.”  
  
She adjusted her hips, and slid herself over him. She pressed the head of his cock against her wetness, she dipped her body down slowly onto him -- teasingly almost. He moaned as she took her time getting him inside her. She slid herself slowly onto his length feeling him fill her up in the most exquisite way. Draco placed his hands upon her hips and pressed into her. She quickened her pace, and he listened as her breaths and moans gave away her oncoming orgasm. She rested her forehead against Draco’s; their lips touching, but not kissing as they both seemed too taken with each other to even think about anything other than the feel of their bodies pressed together.

  
Hermione’s hips bucked against him as she grabbed hold of his shoulders -- her nails digging into through his shirt. Draco watched her beautiful pouted lips fall open as she let out a cry of her orgasm, he pumped his hips up into her; her curls bounced against her shoulders as he did so, and he found himself losing control. He clung to her waist, buried his face in her mass of curls and cried out as he came.  
  
After a few moments of not moving, Hermione swung her leg back over him and sat beside him on the floor. She tilted her head back against her books and laughed softly -- almost to herself.  
  
“That is quite literally the worst thing someone can do after making love, Hermione.”  
  
“Making love?”  
  
“It’s a better turn of phrase than shagging.”  
  
“Yes. I suppose so, but I was laughing at this scenario.” She waved her hands between the two of them, “It’s just joyfully unexpected. Imagine if the Prophet got wind of this.”  
  
“Merlin, woman. Don’t say the name. It invokes them; we’ll be in the papers tomorrow. Enemies Spread Christmas Cheer Through Bodily Fluids.”  
  
She laughed again. Nothing made Draco feel as good as hearing her laugh.  
  
“Enemies to Friends to Lovers. We’re like a trope in a romance novel.”  
  
“Well, trope or not, I am enjoying myself,” and he leaned over to kiss her again. They were once agains lost in one another. Hermione pulled away and got up.  
  
“I got you a Christmas present.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
“Of course, I mean, I see you everyday, we share a classroom wall and students and similar grievances, and, well, we have quite a history, don’t we?”  
  
Draco looked down at the mention of their past.  
  
“You know all of that doesn’t matter to me now, Draco. I think you’re a good man, a great teacher, and a bloody good lay.”  
  
He chuckled, and she sat down next to him and placed a box in his hand. It was a slender rectangle wrapped in matte black paper with green and silver ribbon she had magicked to shimmer.  
  
He undid the ribbon and placed it next to him. Hermione was in awe of how gentle and tentative he was with unwrapping. He didn’t tear into it as most people did. He unwrapped it with care.  
  
He slid the box out of the paper and opened it. Inside lie a cedar wood pencil next to a brass sharpener.  
  
“My father, well, he loved this type of pencil. He, like you, has smaller handwriting, and so the lead is very hard and with this type of sharpener the point gets very fine -- perfect for small handwriting. I noticed you prefer pencil to pen, and so I’ve charmed the pencil to stay this exact length; it’ll never get shorter even as you sharpen it, and the sharpener if you tap it just here…” she pointed to the base “it will sharpen the pencil perfectly, so no over sharpening and breaking lead, no wonky points. Just a perfectly sharpened pencil.” She beamed at him.  
  
He looked awestruck; Draco had never received such a thoughtful gift, a gift that was just for him and about him. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, “Thank you, Hermione. It’s wonderful. I, too, have something for you. It’s at home. Give me a second. I’ll apparate and get it.  
  
With a pop, he was gone. Within minutes, with a pop, he was back.  
  
He sat back down next to her, a little closer than before. He handed her what felt like a book, it was softer than a book but still definitely a book of some sorts. It was wrapped in brown paper with a red string tied into a bow around it.  
  
She, unlike Draco, tore into the gift. She took out a scarlet leather bound planner; embossed on the front, near the bottom center were her initials in gold. Draco tapped his wand against the front cover and in the same gold embossing was the Gryffindor crest. “This way you always have a little bit of home with you.”  
  
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, “Thank you, Draco. Happy Christmas.”  
  
“Happy Christmas to you, too. However, I believe the best present in this room is still wrapped up in clothes.”  
  
She laughed, “Yes. Well, I like you in the cords, your arse and cock look quite good in them,” and she leaned forward to kiss him again.


End file.
